


love is not a victory march

by hakyeonni



Series: little incubus [12]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Injury, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nephilim, Reminiscing, Shameless Smut, Succubi & Incubi, Warning: Taekwoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:31:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakyeonni/pseuds/hakyeonni
Summary: torn between the love he feels for jaehwan and the love he feels for his friends, hakyeon lives a half-life, somehow having both while not truly having either.





	love is not a victory march

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back
> 
> back again
> 
> jaehwan's back
> 
> tell a friend
> 
> jaehwan's back jaehwan's back jaehwan's back jaehwan's back jaehwan's back jaehwan's back jaehwan's back

“Will you dance for me?”

Now that’s a question Hakyeon has heard thousands of times over the centuries. He’s heard it from the mouths of Kings, of Queens, of Lords and Ladies and Barons and Presidents and Prime Ministers and sometimes he’s even heard it from Wonshik. But never before have the words sounded so sweet, because this time it’s Jaehwan asking, and even though they’re just in Jaehwan’s apartment Hakyeon feels like he’s at the centre of the known universe.

“Of course,” he replies, turning back to where he was flicking through Jaehwan’s record collection (just one of the small facts he’s picked up about Jaehwan in the past few months; who knew he enjoyed collecting things?), unable to hide his smile. “What would you like me to dance?”

He feels arms on his waist, lips nibbling at his ear, the soft embrace of feathers, and relaxes into Jaehwan’s touch. “You were a gisaeng, correct?” Hakyeon turns so they’re face to face, and, not for the first time, wonders how the hell he got so lucky. “Dance like you did back then.”

“Okay,” he replies, eyes wide, fingers tracing the line of Jaehwan’s lower lip dreamily. Everything he does these days is done dreamily, he realises. It’s like he’s living in a dream that he never really wants to wake from. “Sit on the lounge.”

Jaehwan obeys, stretching out his wings so he doesn’t sit on them—Hakyeon’s done that a few times, and apparently it _really_ hurts—and watching Hakyeon expectantly. He turns back to the records and picks Beethoven; it’s not like Jaehwan has any compilations of traditional Korean music, and he supposes the tempo is close enough that it will do. He places the needle carefully on the record before folding himself into an all-too-familiar pose; even though it was centuries since he last danced like this as a human, he suspects his muscles will always remember, that this dance will always call to him. He rises automatically when the music starts, shifting as he goes so that when he’s on his feet and starting to move he is Songi once more, complete with elaborate hair and hanbok, fans in his hands as he moves like water. The song he’s dancing to turns out to be Moonlight Sonata, and he catches the surprise on Jaehwan’s face as he twirls. Such a sombre song, so unsuited to such a pretty, light-spirited dance; this should be a nice thing, him dancing for Jaehwan, since he so rarely does this anymore. But instead he feels cold tendrils of dread wreath his heart as he watches Jaehwan watching him, because what they have is so good and yet so easily broken.

Jaehwan stands up and claps when he’s done, but Hakyeon stays where he is on the floor, panting and sweaty and looking up at Jaehwan with a heavy heart. Jaehwan catches on instantly; he’s nothing if not perceptive, and ordinarily it’s a blessing but right now Hakyeon does not want him privy to these traitorous thoughts. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, bending down to draw Hakyeon into his arms. He doesn’t seem to care that Hakyeon isn’t really Hakyeon anymore. He’s a woman in every way, complete with long hair falling into his eyes, and vaguely he remembers how much he did not miss this. “You look spaced-out.”

“I’m fine,” Hakyeon lies, and smiles when Jaehwan blinks at his high-pitched voice. “I don’t do that very often.”

He shifts back to himself, right there in Jaehwan’s arms—Songi is dead, and there’s no point pretending otherwise—and tugs Jaehwan in for a kiss, willing those horrible feelings of dread and doubt to go away. He’s fine. They’re both fine. For the first time in his long, long life, he’s found love, and now that he’s got it he’s not willing to give it up for anything.

//

The first thing he sees when he lets himself back into his apartment is Hongbin and Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk’s lying shirtless on the kitchen island while Hongbin bends over him, and when they both turn to look at the front door in horror Hakyeon realises that Hongbin’s got blood all over his mouth, and—oh, god. “On the fucking kitchen island!” he screeches, barrelling towards Sanghyuk with his hands out. “You’re going to get blood on the marble!”

Sanghyuk tries to get up, but he’s far too slow considering Hakyeon has a four-hundred-year head-start, and Hakyeon shoves him on the floor before rounding on Hongbin, shaking his finger reproachfully. “Hyung,” Hongbin pleads, but his fangs are still out and he’s trying not to laugh so Hakyeon keeps coming. “We got carried away—”

“He was laid out like a buffet,” Hakyeon growls, digging his fingers into Hongbin’s waist because he knows that’s his weak spot. “I don’t know what kind of freaky roleplay shit you two are into—” Over his shoulder, he can hear Sanghyuk wheezing with laughter “—but do it in a fucking bedroom or something! I cook on there!”

Sanghyuk—who is laughing so hard he’s coughing, now—crawls towards him on the floor, and some faint part of Hakyeon’s brain wonders how the hell his life got so _weird_. “But, hyung,” he manages to get out, “all you eat is ass.”

“Little shit!” Hakyeon says with a roar, although it’s a playful one, and then they’re wrestling. Hongbin’s too busy falling over himself laughing to do anything, and Hakyeon manages to pin Sanghyuk to the ground easily, grinding his face into the carpet as he wails through his laughter. “I eat pussy too!”

The both of them make identical noises of disgust in unison, and when Hakyeon lets go and falls onto the carpet next to Sanghyuk they fall upon him. Sanghyuk’s warm, and Hongbin is dreadfully cold, and as they lie on him and laugh Hakyeon looks up at his ceiling—they’d all gotten drunk one day and painted stars there, although they’re dreadfully wobbly—and wonders what the hell he did in a previous life to deserve this. “Where’s Wonshik?” he asks when they fall silent, their hands locked together over his chest.

“I’m not his keeper,” Hongbin grumbles, but when Hakyeon elbows him he acquiesces. “I don’t know. Said he might come around later.”

If Hakyeon is being honest with himself, he is walking a very thin line already. How Hongbin does not sense Jaehwan’s energy wreathing him he does not know. Wonshik has no reason to be suspicious, not really, but he is anyway, and Hakyeon knows that once he gets an idea in his head he is like a dog with a bone and will rarely let it go. The only thing that’s preventing Wonshik from outright confronting him, is, he knows, the fact that he has very little evidence to support his suspicions. And why would he? Hakyeon’s been careful— _very_ careful. Juggling Jaehwan on one hand and his friends with the other is hard, but he can’t see how he can give either of them up. He refuses to.

“Okay,” he says cheerily, sliding out from underneath the two of them and scrambling to his feet. He peers down at them, trying to look reproachful. He’s not really sure he succeeds, because as much as he tries to be mad at them he just can’t—not when they have their arms wrapped around each other, blinking up at him with identical faux-innocent expressions, yin and yang in nearly every way. “No more blood drinking on the kitchen surfaces.” He wags his finger at both of them, and shakes his head when Sanghyuk opens his mouth to interrupt. “And yes, the dining room table counts as a kitchen surface. Don’t be gross. Go do that in your own house.”

Sanghyuk’s kept his little apartment on the other side of the river; he’d used it to work out of for the first couple of months, when he was still terrified of going outside, and now he just seems to use it as a bolthole whenever he’s getting sick of Hakyeon or needs some space. He’s vampire-proofed the second bedroom, too, so the two of them spend quite a lot of time there. It’s quite sweet, and Hakyeon tries not to be envious. Jaehwan’s apartment is nice, but it’s very much _his_ , and he can’t be around at Hakyeon’s too much for obvious reasons.

“Yes sir,” Sanghyuk replies, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes—but Hakyeon can feel he’s not being genuine, and the amusement flowing through the bond is familiar and strong. “Where have you been, anyway?”

Just like always, the lie comes easily to his lips—he can’t even feel any guilt about it, because Sanghyuk will be able to sense that and know that something’s up. “Just working,” he evades, turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen to get himself a red bull.

The fabrication that he’s created over these past three months is one that’s just absurd enough to be feasible; he’s told the others he’s been hired as the manager of a strip club on the other side of town, in a district they rarely visit. Wonshik is too repelled by the whole idea to even consider visiting, and Sanghyuk and Hongbin are both gay so Hakyeon doesn’t have to worry about them being curious, either. No one had batted an eyelid when he’d mentioned it, probably because it’s something that he could genuinely see himself doing. He does need to start working again soon, but not yet (he much prefers dancing to managing); he still has enough stashed away to live comfortably for a while.

Sanghyuk, however, sits up and raises an eyebrow archly, and Hakyeon knows that look. Most of Sanghyuk’s expressions spell trouble but this one means _extra_ trouble, and his stomach churns. “You’re working an awful lot lately, hyung,” he says innocently, and Hakyeon nearly crushes the can in his fist. “So often, in fact, that you’re rarely home. And when you do come home, you’re always well-fed. Could you be… seeing someone?”

This level of questioning is innocent, for now, but he’s hyperaware of how _not_ innocent it could become, how much the perfect life he’s crafted for himself could be ruined by one misstep. “Yeah, you caught me,” he says sarcastically, shrugging. “My last relationship turned out so well I figured I’d do it again.”

Sanghyuk grimaces, and Hakyeon turns to head down the hall before he can even feel guilty about that low blow. He hates lying like this, hates pulling the wool over Sanghyuk’s eyes—there is no bond stronger than that of maker and child, after all, and they are meant to be complete confidantes in every way—but if Sanghyuk finds out he will tell Hongbin, and Hongbin will tell Wonshik, and then Hakyeon will be in a world of trouble. He already knows he’s in far too deep, and that there’s really no way to get out of this without someone hurting, but he also knows he wants to avoid that for as long as possible.

 _Sorry, hyung_ , Hakyeon hears through the bond, Sanghyuk’s unspoken words, and he bites his lip hard.

//

“Get up.”

Jaehwan’s using his whiny voice, the one he uses when he wants Hakyeon to do something for him, but considering it’s before midday Hakyeon is not interested in anything he has to say and instead rolls over. It’s not that easy to get away, though. For someone who isn’t that physically imposing, there always seems to be a lot of Jaehwan that’s always _there_. Right now he has one wing tucked around Hakyeon, the feathers soft on his face, and he pushes it away blearily. “Fuck off,” he groans, but they both know it’s not genuine.

“Little incubus,” Jaehwan says again, but this time he’s purring and it sends shivers down Hakyeon’s spine. “Get up. Please?”

“You’re littler than me,” Hakyeon grumbles, but he rolls over so he’s cradled in Jaehwan’s arms and cracks an eye blearily to look up at him. “What do you want?”

Jaehwan’s looking at him with such a soft, caring expression that any residual annoyance Hakyeon was feeling evaporates completely. For someone who tries desperately to project a cool and collected image at all times, Jaehwan really is a big softy on the inside, and Hakyeon secretly loves it when he gets in an affectionate mood, like now—he’s brushing Hakyeon’s hair out of his eyes, laying a hand on Hakyeon’s cheek. Automatically, Hakyeon turns his face there, and they both sigh. “Nothing,” Jaehwan says, but he’s being coy. “I just thought we could do something nice.”

“This is nice.”

“I meant,” Jaehwan pauses to pout, and Hakyeon could _kill_ him, “something nice outside.”

“Why would I want to go outside,” Hakyeon counters smoothly, “when I have everything I need right here?”

When he pulls Jaehwan in for a kiss, his lips are so hot and familiar that he finds himself melting even though he is still barely awake. As powerful as Jaehwan is, he has his weaknesses, and Hakyeon knows every single one of them; he trails his hands gently over Jaehwan’s collarbones, brushing the tips of his fingers over the ink there, resisting the urge to dig his nails in. Jaehwan gathers Hakyeon into his arms and rolls over so their positions are reversed, Hakyeon lying on top of him, and from here he can prop himself up and look at Jaehwan. His eyes are blown wide, his hair—it’s a sort of ash brown today; he likes to shapeshift it a lot—falling in his eyes, his lips parted. Now that it’s summer his skin is ghosted with the faintest hint of a tan, and Hakyeon’s hands on his chest don’t stand out so starkly. The ink there is beautiful, no doubt about it, but somewhat crudely applied, and Hakyeon pauses from leaning down to kiss Jaehwan once again to tap the nearest leaf. “These,” he says, and he’s perfectly aware that it’s been nearly a year since he first asked this question, that once again the city is sweltering with heat. “You’ve never told me about them.”

Jaehwan sticks his bottom lip out in a pout—silently Hakyeon wishes he’d never discovered the internet, because he knows for a fact he’s spent hours on youtube watching videos on aegyo—and slides his hands down onto Hakyeon’s hips, a plea to come closer, but Hakyeon does not relent. “Fine,” he sighs a moment later when Hakyeon still does not move. “I got them when I was human... when my powers first started to manifest.” His expression changes as he speaks, and it’s very clear he’s slipping back centuries in his head, possibly millennia. Hakyeon has no idea how old Jaehwan actually is. His voice even sounds different; he’s speaking the same language, but his accent changes, becomes coarser, clipped. “They turned me human. Kept me human. Whatever.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven,” Jaehwan replies, and Hakyeon blinks. “I did not know what was going on.”

Hakyeon doesn’t really know what to say to that. His friends were all born human, lived as human, died as human—he can’t explain the magic that animates them all, and he certainly has no idea why vampires seem to stay dead while incubi continue to live, but they all most definitely died—and have a basic concept of mortality that Jaehwan just does not have. He was born, that much is clear. But that’s all Hakyeon knows. “But you’re not human now,” he says, and it’s a statement, not a question.

“I do not know if I was ever really human,” Jaehwan mutters.

Silence. Hakyeon takes a breath, feels Jaehwan do the same, feels his heartbeat underneath his hands. “And what happened? They’re meant to… to rein in your powers, yeah? To make you not have wings.” He’s paraphrasing, and he doesn’t mean to be glib, but he doesn’t really know how to ask. “But you have wings.”

Jaehwan’s hands tighten on his hips, and his brow furrows. It looks like he is trying very hard to remember. “They came to our village,” he says, and Hakyeon doesn’t have to ask who. “I was so terrified of their wings and their eyes. I did not realise I was like them. I had only seen twenty-four summers. Should have been married.” He adds this last bit as an afterthought, somewhat dreamily. “She was always telling me that.”

Hakyeon shifts. He has no idea who this ‘she’ is—his mother?—and he’s almost too afraid to ask. This Jaehwan in front of him is not the Jaehwan he’s come to know and love; it’s not _his_ Jaehwan. This Jaehwan is old, impossibly old, so old it hurts his brain to even consider, and at once Hakyeon can see how immortality makes life move so fast. “Hey,” he starts, and Jaehwan shivers, his eyes snapping back to Hakyeon’s face. He offers Hakyeon a smile, one of the rare ones where his whole face crinkles up, and instantly he’s back to himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“Not at all,” Jaehwan replies, sliding his hand up the length of Hakyeon’s torso to rest on the back of his neck. “I just don’t think of those times very often. There’s nothing left for me there.”

This time, when Jaehwan tugs him closer, Hakyeon doesn’t bother to resist. He’s right, as he so often is; there’s nothing for them left in the past, nothing but ghosts and memories that hurt to think about. What matters is the here and now and the future, and as Jaehwan bites his bottom lip gently, making him hiss, he realises that this _is_ his future—Jaehwan is all he has, all he wants, and he’s okay with that. “I thought you wanted to do something outside,” he mumbles as Jaehwan bites down his neck, making him shiver and dig his hands into the pillows. “This isn’t outside.”

Jaehwan pauses, but only for a moment, and Hakyeon feels his lips move when he replies. “Later.”

With how much time they have, they can afford to take things slowly—but that never stops them. Before long they’re rutting against each other clumsily, their kisses messy, eyes half-open and hands curled loosely in hair. It’s sloppy and it’s swift, and it’s exactly the way Hakyeon likes it. He lets Jaehwan peel him out of his (borrowed) pyjama pants, does the same for him (just like him, Jaehwan can shapeshift on any clothes he chooses, but for some bizarre reason he prefers to buy them—which is why Hakyeon had come home one day to find him sitting shirtless on the living room floor, carefully measuring out slits in his new shirts for his wings), gets sick of trying when the shirt gets caught on one massive wing and sighs until Jaehwan pulls it off himself, snickering as he does so. They laugh together, even though it’s not particularly funny; it’s not like it matters. Hakyeon’s just grateful he gets to hear Jaehwan’s laugh at all.

“You’re so warm,” Jaehwan mumbles as he’s kissing his way down Hakyeon’s belly, one hand splayed on his hip. His nose digs into the spot above Hakyeon’s bellybutton, and he has to resist the urge to giggle.

“The term you’re looking for is hot,” Hakyeon replies sarcastically, propping himself up on his elbows. He’s just about to say something more when Jaehwan closes a hand around his cock and strokes him languidly, and all he can do is gasp, the words gone as soon as they’d started to form.

Every time Jaehwan touches him is like the first time all over again, and Hakyeon buries one hand in his hair as he takes Hakyeon’s cock in his mouth, looking up at him through his eyelashes like he can do no wrong. Hakyeon sort of finds that hard to believe, especially as Jaehwan ignores Hakyeon’s moans for more and instead keeps up his sluggish pace, laughing when Hakyeon resorts to pleading with him. The feeling of this—of Jaehwan’s mouth, so hot and wet; of his hand; of the way he jerks when Hakyeon tugs at his hair—is too much, and after a short while he’s already on the edge, trying to buck his hips up towards Jaehwan and failing. “Jaehwanie,” he says, tightening his fist in an effort to pull Jaehwan away, “please.”

“Hmm,” is all Jaehwan says to that, kissing and biting his way back up Hakyeon’s body to arrive at his mouth, kissing him lazily.

In the end it’s Hakyeon who takes the initiative, for it seems that Jaehwan is content to stay as they are, pressed up against each other with limbs entwined. That’s all very well and good except that the fire of lust is burning within Hakyeon so strongly he thinks he is going to be devoured by it, and he rolls Jaehwan over and tugs him to sit up before sliding into his lap, looking down at him for a long, still moment before reaching for the lube and pouring some onto his fingers. Jaehwan does nothing but watch, silent and still, as Hakyeon slides two fingers inside himself and tips his head back, gritting his teeth in order not to make a sound, as tempting as that would be. In fact, Jaehwan doesn’t say a word even when Hakyeon lines himself up and lowers himself onto Jaehwan’s cock, although his eyes do go wide. Hakyeon can’t stop a moan from escaping, and he locks his arms around Jaehwan’s neck just to stay upright, marvelling at how fucking intimate this is and how, even though they are so, so close, they just aren’t close enough.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, but it comes out strangely garbled. Once again he feels like he’s in a dream; everything that’s not Jaehwan is weirdly fuzzy, and there’s shivers running up and down his spine. “Fuck me,” he says again, cupping Jaehwan’s face in his hands. “Please.”

Jaehwan just raises an eyebrow. Hakyeon hates how he can remain so composed—whereas he’s falling apart at the seams—and so grinds into him, gasping when his cock rubs up against Jaehwan’s belly, the friction almost too good. That has an effect—Jaehwan’s eyes flutter shut and he swallows; Hakyeon can see his adam’s apple bob—and he smirks to himself. That’s the last conscious action he does, because then he loses himself in the feeling of Jaehwan. Certain things stick in his memory: Jaehwan’s hand, splayed on his back; the angle of Jaehwan’s jaw when he tips his head back; the little whiny noises he makes when he gets closer to coming, how sweet they sound; how they grind and rut into each other furiously, pouring out feelings they didn’t even know they had until Jaehwan comes with a cry that’s nearly a shout, burying his face in Hakyeon’s neck and biting there, hard. Hakyeon stiffens, and his eyes roll back in his head; Jaehwan’s energy hits him like a truck, and he drinks it in, and he knows what it is to be truly alive. He doesn’t last much longer. Jaehwan’s hand closes around his cock and strokes him once, twice, and then he comes, arching his back so much Jaehwan has to hold him by the waist so he doesn’t go toppling off the bed.

“I love you,” he murmurs. He’s still draped over Jaehwan in an embrace while they come down, and although he feels tingly all over and he really wants to shower, he doesn’t bother trying to hold back the deluge of feelings that come back to him now that he is lucid once more—and besides, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to turn down an opportunity to say those words.

“I love you, too,” Jaehwan says, and Hakyeon can hear the smile in his voice.

//

Even though Hakyeon is content to stay in bed for the rest of the day, Jaehwan gets antsy; Hakyeon can tell in the way that he can’t quite keep away from the windows, how his wings twitch and shudder with the urge to fly. He takes his time getting out of bed—mainly because he can’t stop himself from kissing Jaehwan again, and then things escalate over and over again—but eventually he’s up and dressed. He turns to Jaehwan to announce that he’s ready, but Jaehwan is _right there_ and before Hakyeon can protest they’re being whisked away, the familiar tingle and slight nausea washing over him in waves as he opens his eyes to see…

“Woah,” he breathes, clutching tight to Jaehwan’s hand and taking an inadvertent step back. “Jaehwan… wow.”

He doesn’t know where they are exactly; somewhere to the south, he’d guess, because he’s looking out to the west, towards Incheon and beyond. They’re on a mountain, although he doesn’t know which one. All he can look at is the setting sun, huge on the horizon and looking for all the world like it’s going to swallow them both. The air is blazing orange, and when he looks at their joined hands he feels his heart skip a beat. They’re painted in the shades of the setting sun, and he pulls them up to his face to inspect them, feeling childish but not caring. Jaehwan looks even more godlike like this, with one half of his face glowing and the other cast in shadow, and all Hakyeon can do is stare.

“Do you like it?” Jaehwan says as Hakyeon slides his arms back around his waist.

It’s one of the most beautiful things Hakyeon has ever seen, that setting sun, and that’s saying a lot with how long he’s lived. “I love it,” is all he can say in reply, his voice hoarse, suddenly devoid of words. “How did you find this place?”

It’s not like ‘this place’ is anything special—it’s just a mountaintop, after all, and there are hundreds of them scattered around the city. But Jaehwan never does anything on a whim. His every action is deliberate, and Hakyeon can sense that this is not the first time Jaehwan has been here.

“I grew up around here.” Jaehwan shrugs, like this information is no big deal, but Hakyeon has to swallow his tongue as to not interrupt. Two snippets of Jaehwan’s past in one day? He _must_ be dreaming. “I’ve had a lot of time to explore. I know this part of the country like the back of my hand.”

For some reason, that calls to mind the image of Jaehwan in hiking gear, and he blinks it away. “You grew up in Seoul?” he hears himself asking faintly. He still has no idea how old Jaehwan is, and the capital has changed so much in just his time that he finds it hard to believe Jaehwan would even recognise the area; he struggles, sometimes.

Jaehwan’s feathers flutter in the breeze, and Hakyeon finds it easier to stare at those as he talks, rather than at his face—because he once again looks like a stranger. “It wasn’t called Seoul in those days,” he says, and Hakyeon nods. He himself knew the capital as Hanseong. “And I didn’t really live _in_ it. On the outskirts. A village, I guess. It was tiny and poor.” He shudders, almost involuntarily. “It was not a very prosperous time, or at least not for us.”

He cuts himself off before he can go any further, and cups Hakyeon’s face. Once more that stranger is banished, and once more Hakyeon feels slightly disturbed, although he doesn’t let it show. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” is all he says, smiling as Jaehwan squishes his cheeks.

“Bullshit,” Jaehwan says, and then sticks his bottom lip out. “I’ve always been sentimental. You’re just too self-absorbed to notice.” And then, as Hakyeon is puffing up to mockingly chastise him, he grins. “Come flying with me?”

“Go.” Hakyeon disentangles himself from Jaehwan’s arms and pushes him gently away. “I’ll wait here.”

If Jaehwan doesn’t go flying every couple of days, he gets weirdly antsy and fidgety; he could go without it, but Hakyeon suspects he would probably be miserable. And the look on his face when he spreads his wings and leaps into the air, still bathed in the dying light of the sun—it’s like nothing Hakyeon has ever seen before, like freedom personified. Sometimes he shifts on wings and they go flying together, but he’s not really very good at it. He’s content to just sit and stare at the sun setting over the water, deliberately keeping his mind blank lest he get into a weird depressed mood again. He has nothing to fear. He and Jaehwan are happy—Hakyeon watches as he lands briefly on the top of a nearby tree, panting and sweaty with his eyes creased up into a smile before taking off again—and things are well with Sanghyuk and Hongbin and Wonshik. Taekwoon isn’t bothering them, and as long as they keep this a secret, he won’t ever bother them again. Hakyeon knows all this, he _knows_ it, but still he can’t stop shivers from running up and down his spine as he sits and watches the sun set.

Jaehwan lands again when all that’s left on the horizon is a slice, and flops dramatically on the ground before reaching for Hakyeon’s hand. He can’t sense emotions, or read minds—that’s a trait nephilim don’t ever inherit from their angel parent—but he must know something’s up, because he shuffles a little closer and leans his head on Hakyeon’s shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

Hakyeon doesn’t even know how to begin explaining the truth, so instead he scrounges around for something else to say, figuring it’s only a white lie and is harmless. “I wish Wonshik could see this,” he blurts instead, and then inwardly kicks himself. What the fuck? Since when did Wonshik enter into this? Sometimes he doesn’t even understand his own brain.

“Hm,” Jaehwan says. “Hm. Does he want to see the sun again?”

Of course Hakyeon hasn’t asked, but he knows Wonshik can smell the sunlight on his skin in summer and sometimes gets a wistful look on his face—even if he can only imagine Wonshik in the context of darkness. “I think so,” he says softly, and then realises that of course he would. Wonshik is an appreciator of the finer things in life, and there’s just something so ethereally beautiful about a sunset that is forever out of his reach. He can see the sky lightening, and he can sense the sun being up, but he can never see it. Such is his curse. “Yes, probably. Six hundred years is a long time to not see the sun.”

This was just an excuse to throw Jaehwan off the scent, but now he’s thinking about it, he realises he _does_ wish Wonshik was here. Well, maybe not here, crashing their date—Jaehwan’s hand is resting somewhat perilously on his upper thigh, and even though that shouldn’t be enough to turn Hakyeon on, it somehow is—but somewhere like this, in front of a setting sun, bathed in blazing oranges and soft pinks. It would be nice, but there’s no point lusting after things that can’t be. He’s never been one to live like that.

“Let’s head home?” he says a few minutes later, when the last sliver of sun has disappeared into the sea.

Jaehwan gets up smoothly and pulls Hakyeon with him, but for once he doesn’t teleport them instantly away. Instead there’s a strange expression on his face; it’s almost like jealousy mixed with wistfulness, and Hakyeon raises an eyebrow. “You and Wonshik,” Jaehwan says, and Hakyeon’s eyebrow raises even further. “You two are so close.”

And he sighs, and Hakyeon understands.

“Let’s get home.” He cups Jaehwan’s cheek gently and closes his eyes as Jaehwan blinks them away, taking a deep breath in as the unpleasant sensation washes over him. When he reopens his eyes he’s back where he was before, in Jaehwan’s living room, and Jaehwan still has that funny expression on his face. It doesn’t suit him, and Hakyeon sighs again. He knows Jaehwan isn’t jealous of Wonshik. It’s more that he’s wistful that he doesn’t have a friend like that, and probably never will—Hakyeon knows him well enough to read him, now. He wishes dearly things aren’t what they were and that Sanghyuk could hang out with them, because he knows the two of them get on well, and maybe Sanghyuk could provide the friendly companionship Jaehwan has been missing throughout his long, long life. “I wish I could tell him about us,” he says, referring to Wonshik. “I wish I could tell all of them.”

Jaehwan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The guilt in his eyes is mirrored in Hakyeon’s own weak smile, and they do nothing but stand there and hold each other for a few more minutes, lost in their thoughts.

//

Hakyeon isn’t particularly surprised to hear the jangle of keys at his door after sensing Wonshik nearby—they drop by for unannounced visits constantly, after all—but what he doesn’t expect is for Wonshik to slam the door open dramatically and lean against the frame, narrowing his eyes at Hakyeon suspiciously. “You!” he says, and then peers around the inside of the apartment like it’s the first time he’s seeing it. “This isn’t my house.”

“No, it’s not,” Hakyeon replies, dog-earing the paperback he was reading and dropping it onto his chest. “It’s mine. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I was going home,” Wonshik mutters, toeing off his shoes and stepping inside the apartment.

He’s drunk, that much is clear, and it’s only until he staggers closer that Hakyeon realises he’s blood-drunk instead of alcohol-drunk, which is curious. Wonshik rarely does that—he hates losing control in any way—and yet here he is, flopping down the other end of the sofa from Hakyeon and flinging a hand over his eyes dramatically. “How the hell did I end up here?” he mutters hoarsely.

“Don’t know,” Hakyeon chirps, sitting up to slap Wonshik’s thigh. “You’d better get to bed, though. It’s close to dawn.”

He’d been up because he’d been waiting for Sanghyuk to get home, but he’d gotten a text about an hour ago saying _im wit hongbin hyung!! wnt b home dnt wait up xxx_ and he’d just not moved from the sofa because his book was so engaging. Jaehwan isn’t due over tonight, so he really has nothing to wait up for; Wonshik stumbling in is the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.

“Yeah, yeah,” replies Wonshik, but he makes no effort to move.

In the end Hakyeon has to practically drag him to the spare bedroom, made all the more difficult by the fact that he decides that wriggling like a puppy would be fun. In the end Hakyeon gives up and pushes him onto the bed and peels him from his clothes there, Wonshik giggling like a fool whenever Hakyeon touches his too-cold skin. It’s funny, especially so because it’s _Wonshik_ , and faintly Hakyeon wonders if this is the season for his friends to act out-of-turn.

“Go to sleep,” he orders, pulling the sheet up over Wonshik and tucking him in.

He’s just about to turn and head to his own room when he sees it and freezes. It’s the most queer thing. His body just refuses to work, refuses to move, and there’s nothing he can do except watch in detached horror as Wonshik, following his gaze, sees it too—a single black feather lying on the other pillow, stark against the crisp cream of the pillowcase.

“What—” is all he manages to say, slowly, before Hakyeon is on him.

Wonshik has the strength advantage, but he’s drunk and barely knows where he is—so Hakyeon is able to clamber over him to snag the feather easily, closing his fist around it and keeping it clenched there as Wonshik grabs his wrists to try and see. “Get off!” he’s yelling, half-playfully but mostly not, his heart racing out of his skin as Wonshik bares his fangs at him.

“Hakyeon—”

“It’s not—”

“Show me—”

“Wonshik, stop it—”

Hakyeon doesn’t even have to shift to get free; he just wriggles out of Wonshik’s grasp, the feather clutched to his chest, his eyes wide and his blood sluggish in his veins. How could he be so stupid? They can’t know. None of them can know, and especially not Wonshik; Hakyeon can’t lose him, and knows that he stands a very good chance at doing just that if he finds out about Jaehwan. He is so pragmatic that he just won’t understand why Hakyeon is doing what he is doing (nevermind that _Hakyeon_ sometimes doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing)—he operates from his head, and Hakyeon operates from the heart, just as they’ve always done. Once again he feels so hideously torn, standing there like that, panting and staring Wonshik down as the sun rises. He is beyond loyal to Wonshik—they’ve been together for so long that Hakyeon simply can’t, won’t, imagine life without him. But he can’t imagine living without Jaehwan, either, doesn’t want to; he’s torn between both without properly having neither, and for a second he is terrified that Wonshik is not going to let this go and the truth will come spilling out.

But then, but then, the tiredness hits him—Hakyeon sees his clenched fists go limp—and his eyes roll back in his head. “You’re hiding something, Hakyeon-ah,” he slurs, before pitching backwards and flopping loosely onto the bed, completely asleep in less than a second.

Jaehwan arrives not five minutes later, when Hakyeon is wearing his carpet threadbare as he paces, and he comes with fangs bared and sword at the ready, having sensed Hakyeon’s fear from clean across the city. Hakyeon doesn’t know how he does that, but right now he doesn’t particularly care; he just hugs Jaehwan until he ends up accidentally choking him, hating himself for being so powerless. He is never powerless. This is entirely unlike him.

“One of your feathers,” he whispers, opening his fist to show Jaehwan. “It was on the pillow. Wonshik saw it… I think he saw it. He was blood-drunk. I don’t know if he’ll remember. I don’t know what—”

“Hush.” Jaehwan, having got rid of his sword somehow, puts both arms around Hakyeon and pulls him close again. “It’s alright. He won’t remember, and if he does, we can make up an excuse. It’s alright.”

Hakyeon wants to believe him, he does—but all he can see when he closes his eyes is the expression of pure disbelief and hurt on Wonshik’s face when he’d spotted that feather, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing—like he couldn’t quite believe that Hakyeon would risk all their lives again.

//

For all his anxiety, Hakyeon wakes an hour before Wonshik does and spends that hour trying to read his book. He doesn’t have any luck, of course, since his mind is overflowing with thoughts of preparing for the worst—but Wonshik just comes out of the bedroom and quirks an eyebrow at him, heading to the fridge without so much as a word.

“Sleep well?” Hakyeon says after a beat, trying to not sound as hesitant as he feels.

Wonshik shrugs. “I don’t know why you ask me that when you know I always sleep the same way. Dead.” His words are biting, but his tone is teasing, and when he turns back around he has one of Hakyeon’s red bulls in his hand and a smile on his face, and Hakyeon heaves a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, but it’s polite. Not that you’d know anything about that, I suppose. Throw me one of those?”

They drink in silence. Wonshik doesn’t seem to be acting out of turn, and it’s not like Hakyeon can ask, so he just resolves to pack away his worries. They’re doing him no good, clearly, and if Wonshik does remember the feather he isn’t saying anything about it. He’s hardly an optimist, but he wants to believe that everything will come right in the end; he has his friends, and he has Jaehwan, and as long as he keeps them both at an arm’s length he can continue living this odd half-life.

//

Not long after the feather incident Jaehwan decides he wants to redo his apartment. Silently, Hakyeon thinks this is a good idea; as anal-retentive as Jaehwan can be sometimes, that pickiness hasn’t extended to his furniture, which is about as comfortable as Wonshik’s selection from the Ikea catalogue. In fact, that’s where Jaehwan wants to go, but Hakyeon refuses—they end up in high-end furniture shops scattered around Jaehwan’s district (the most affluent in the whole city, which Hakyeon wasn’t exactly surprised at) while Hakyeon picks fabric swatches and Jaehwan feigns interest.

It’s disgustingly normal, and even though Jaehwan stiffens every time Hakyeon accidentally brushes his hand tattoos, and even though he looks longingly at the sky every time they’re outside, they could be any other couple building a life together, and Hakyeon adores that (deep down he knows Jaehwan does too, although he never says so). It’s so easy to forget all the shit that’s happened to them in the past and pretend to be ordinary. Hakyeon had never thought he’d wanted ordinary—he revels in the unordinary, in standing out, in never being quite what he should be—but now he has it, it’s like coming home.

“I caught Sanghyuk and Hongbin on the kitchen island the other day,” he mutters as he wipes down Jaehwan’s own kitchen island, covered in dust and wood shavings from the new furniture being assembled.

Jaehwan turns towards him, but one edge of a giant wing catches the new floor lamp and sends it toppling towards the floor. He manages to catch it—thanks to his immortal reflexes—and looks up bashfully at Hakyeon with the lamp still in his hands. “Oh?”

Hakyeon doesn’t even bother to hide his smile. “Hongbin was drinking from him. On my kitchen counter! He would have gotten blood on the marble.”

He turns to rinse his cloth under the tap and nearly has a heart attack when he turns back around, flinging the wet cloth at Jaehwan so it hits him square between the eyes—he’s teleported so he’s on the kitchen counter, leaning over Hakyeon with black eyes and a devilish grin. “Now that you mention it,” he mutters, throwing the cloth away and pulling Hakyeon closer, “I’m thirsty too…”

Jaehwan’s breath is hot on his neck, and it would be arousing except for the fact that his heart is still racing out of his chest—for just a second all he had seen was black eyes and the shape of wings and had thought it was Taekwoon, haunting them once more, which is absurd because it’s been months. But he wriggles free of Jaehwan’s grasp and reaches for the cloth, his anxiety making his hands shake, needing to look busy so Jaehwan won’t catch on.

Except Jaehwan catches on, because of course he does, and he snags Hakyeon’s hands and brings them to his chest. “I scared you?” he whispers, and when Hakyeon looks up at him he sees his eyes are back to their normal soft brown, creased with worry, water beading on his eyelashes.

Useless. That’s all he’s been since he met Jaehwan, and sometimes—like now—he thinks he might not like being so powerless. But then he shakes his head and pulls away again, sticking the cloth under the tap again for something to do. “Thought you were Taekwoon,” he says curtly, clipping the words lest they reveal his shame.

Jaehwan doesn’t move from the island, just flops onto his back and hefts a great sigh as Hakyeon begins wiping around him. “He’s never going to leave us alone, is he? Even when he’s not here he always will be.”

That’s exactly what Hakyeon has been silently thinking for the past three months, and as he lifts up one of Jaehwan’s massive wings to get at the counter underneath it he figures it’s apparently the time for speaking the unspoken. “He wasn’t best friends with your father or anything, was he?”

“No. Well, I don’t know. I still don’t know which demon fathered me.” Jaehwan shrugs, the movement nonchalant but his words anything but. “It’s been a long time. Maybe he’s been slayed by now. But anyway, no, I don’t think that’s why Taekwoon holds such a grudge against me. He hates me, as all angels do, but he’s just particularly… passionate about it.”

“I thought angels weren’t meant to be passionate.”

Jaehwan rolls onto his side and quirks an eyebrow. “Angels aren’t meant to kill, either, and yet he killed Sanghyuk and those other immortals. Angels aren’t meant to be vicious, and yet he seems to take pleasure in hunting me down. Angels aren’t meant to be fueled by hatred, and yet he’s more twisted than I will ever be. There are a lot of rules that don’t seem to apply to Taekwoon.”

“So why hasn’t he fallen?” Hakyeon has given up on wiping the counter at this point and is instead playing with one of Jaehwan’s feathers, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. “Thou shalt not kill and all that bullshit.”

“Short answer is, he’s part of a sect of angels dedicated to hunting down nephilim, and as part of that sect they are allowed to bend the rules a bit. I don’t have a long answer, since I have no idea about the specifics.” Jaehwan shrugs and reaches out to play with Hakyeon’s hair. “Heaven keeps their secrets locked up tight.”

“But why _you?_ ” Another question that’s been burning bright in him since they first met—why is Taekwoon so obsessed with Jaehwan? Surely there are other nephilim out there for him to hunt. “From everything you’ve told me he seems like he’s your own personal… assassin, or whatever. He won’t leave you alone.”

Jaehwan looks down, but not before Hakyeon sees the pain that flashes through his eyes—and that is shocking in and of itself. Jaehwan is a million things, but he’s never shown hurt like that before. “He was there when I turned.” Jaehwan’s accent comes back again, and Hakyeon’s spine turns to ice. “I bested his brothers easily, but he was my match in combat. I fled, and he followed me. I did not like his arrogance. He did not like me for what I was. I would have a century or so of peace before he found me again, always bringing death with him, always so desperate to… kill me.”

“So he’s crazy,” Hakyeon deadpans.

When Jaehwan looks at him he is once again that familiar stranger, eyes black and brow furrowed. “That would be writing him off, and Taekwoon is not to be written off. He’s calculating in the worst way. We made a truce, you know. I should not have expected him to uphold his end of the bargain.”

“A truce?” He’s aware he’s spluttering, but the thought of Jaehwan and Taekwoon shaking hands peacefully just doesn’t mesh, even if he’s never seen them exchange blows directly—another thing that’s been niggling at him. “Is that why he never attacked you outright? Is that why he went for Sanghyuk?”

“It must have been three hundred years ago, now,” Jaehwan says, cocking his head to the side. “Or roundabouts that, anyway. We fought for the thousandth time. But this time we were both fueled by so much frustration that we wounded each other. He broke my wing—” At this, a shudder runs through Jaehwan’s body and he clenches his fist, and Hakyeon can’t even begin to imagine how much that must have hurt, “—and I had run him through with my sword. He would heal, but it was… there was a lot of blood.” His smile is cold and chilling and he looks even more like a stranger. “I think that was the first time he realised that if we kept fighting, one of us would die, and it might be him. He is the one who suggested the truce. If I kept to myself, if I did not start trouble, if I hid what I was and pretended to be human and kept my head down... If I did all those things, he would not kill me. He would leave me alone, at least.”

So many questions, all spilling through him at once—Why didn’t he just kill Taekwoon right then? Had he really been alone for three _hundred_ years?—and the one he settles on is, “and you _agreed?”_ , sounding as incredulous as he feels.

“I did. And it was all fine, until I saw an incubus in a club, dancing like water and looking at me like he wanted to fuck me with eyes that set the place alight.” He smiles at Hakyeon, somewhat shyly, and Hakyeon can’t help the way his heart skips a damn beat. “Taekwoon doesn’t want to be the one to break the truce by attacking me outright, so he’s using other methods. We’re stuck in some strange stalemate.”

Some of the dread that he’d been carrying since the beginning of this discussion begins to lessen, and he leans into Jaehwan’s hand cupping his face, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to hum at the touch. “So I ruined it all.”

Before he can even begin to remember all the guilt that he feels—Sanghyuk’s death still comes to him when he’s trying to sleep, sometimes, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget how angry Wonshik had gotten, how willing he had been to pull away—Jaehwan kisses him softly, just a brush of lips that warms him up from the inside out, the icy threads of fear loosening. “I would do it all again,” Jaehwan says against his lips, whispering the words into Hakyeon’s mouth like a prayer. “I would do anything for you.”

“I can’t lose you,” Hakyeon sighs, pulling Jaehwan into a kiss.

He cannot. He _will_ not. Jaehwan is his and he is Jaehwan’s; that’s the way it will be for the end of time, he knows. He doesn’t believe in destiny, and he doesn’t believe that they are what they are because they were meant to be—this is something he’s had to fight for, and something he would give his life for, and for the first time in his existence he thinks he finally understands love.

//

The last thing Hakyeon expects when he gets home one night is to see Hongbin and Sanghyuk bent over the coffee table, wine glasses in hand and candles scattered all over the floor. He would assume a romantic night in, except Sanghyuk’s in the middle of calling Hongbin a fucking asshole when he shuts the door behind him, and he quirks an eyebrow at them as he drops his keys in the bowl on the hall table. “Having fun?”

“Scrabble,” Sanghyuk grunts, and Hakyeon smiles. Sanghyuk is fiercely competitive, and although Hongbin doesn’t have that same streak of stubbornness in him he’s not one to back down from a challenge. “Except he has a century’s head start, so it’s not fucking fair.”

“Life’s not fair, my darling,” Hongbin shoots back, ruffling Sanghyuk’s hair playfully. “Where have you been, Hakyeon hyung?”

Completely distracted by the soft domesticity in front of him and buoyed on the residual tinges of Jaehwan’s energy, Hakyeon starts to answer automatically. “I was at J—” he starts, before cutting himself off so violently the others turn to look at him in sync. “I was at work.”

It’s a weak excuse and they know it, and for the first time in a while Sanghyuk narrows his eyes suspiciously, and Hakyeon can taste his sudden doubt. He knows Hakyeon’s lying. Hongbin probably knows Hakyeon’s lying, because he knows way too much sometimes. Everyone in the fucking universe probably knows Hakyeon’s lying, and it’s suddenly exhausting. “What did you two get up to today?” he says instead, trying to cover his nervousness with an injection of pep into his voice.

“Nothing,” Sanghyuk says, but he’s still staring at Hakyeon intensely. “We’ve been playing scrabble for hours.”

The awkward silence builds until Hakyeon can’t handle it anymore and nods tersely before heading down the hall without another word, leaning on the wall heavily, feeling the texture of the paint underneath his fingertips just to ground himself. The longer he keeps up this pretense the worse it will be when it all falls down, but he’s dug himself so deep now he really sees no way of getting out. All he can do is keep blundering forward blindly, hoping he’s doing the wrong thing but having no confirmation either way.

When he gets into his bedroom he slams the door behind him and leans on it heavily, reaching for his phone and pulling it out. The only people he really texts are his friends—and, sometimes, one night stands—and so Wonshik’s messages are at the top of the list, right above Jaehwan’s, and he nibbles his bottom lip as he looks at them. Jaehwan’s last message is a string of heart emoji’s, and Wonshik’s is a lot more cordial— _can you buy me some more facemasks?_ —and for a moment he hesitates. He’s not used to these secrets. He and Wonshik have been telling each other everything for so long that it’s an instinct, now, and for a fleeting moment he considers opening up right then and there, pressing the call button and saying _hey, I’ve got something to tell you._

And then he thinks of Taekwoon’s eyes and Taekwoon’s fangs and Taekwoon’s hatred and reconsiders, locking his phone and sliding it back in his pocket. There’s too much at stake here for him to get sloppy now, as much as it hurts him to admit. Wonshik is better off in the dark. They all are.

//

It’s not often that he goes on a weird self-improvement kick, but when he does, it’s short and passionate. The last time it had happened he’d repainted his bedroom just for fun, and then, when the paint was drying, decided he hated the new colour but was too lazy to fix it (hence why his bedroom is still sporting midnight blue walls, a month later). The time before he’d spent too much time on buzzfeed and had attempted to make his own bath bombs, which had failed spectacularly. The time before _that_ he’d binge-watched all of _Project Runway_ and had taken up sewing for a week. This time around he’s decided he wants to try and bake a cake, which is laughable since he rarely uses his oven—at least he’s better than Sanghyuk—and had to make an emergency trip to the grocery store to get flour and baking powder and sugar, all things he hadn’t realised he needed.

And then, of course, a Jaehwan-shaped spanner is thrown into the mix when he appears in the kitchen and slyly asks, “What are you doing?”, giving Hakyeon such a fright he jumps and bangs his head on the cupboard door. That, of course, leads to Jaehwan having to kiss it better, which leads to Jaehwan kissing Hakyeon’s neck and chest better, too, and Hakyeon’s just pawing at the bottom of Jaehwan’s shirt, trying to pull it up, when the door slams open and Wonshik enters.

Distantly, Hakyeon realises he has never seen someone quite so angry before. Wonshik is so pissed his hair is practically standing on end, and his eyes are glowing such a fierce red Hakyeon feels like he’s about to look down and see a hole in his chest. Jaehwan freezes, his entire body going as still as a statue, but Hakyeon wriggles free of his grasp and meets Wonshik halfway, catching his raised arms and forcing him back a step. Wonshik’s hissing, christ, he’s actually _hissing_ like some kind of rabid cat and Hakyeon’s had enough and they’ve barely just started.

“I knew it,” Wonshik growls, twisting his arms so he has Hakyeon’s wrists in his hands, gripping them so tightly Hakyeon whimpers. “I fucking knew you—”

“Go,” Hakyeon says over his shoulder, just in time to see Jaehwan blink into nothingness.

He can handle Wonshik. He’s been handling Wonshik for so long that he’d expected this anger—he’d secretly been preparing for the worst, because he knew the bubble of peace could not last. But when he turns back to look at Wonshik he is shocked into stillness because those are _tears_ pooling in Wonshik’s eyes, turning his eyelashes bloody, his lips still twisted into a snarl. Wonshik only cries when he’s deeply, deeply upset, and Hakyeon feels his heart clench, pain ripping through him. “Wonshik,” he murmurs, gritting his teeth as Wonshik forces him back a step. “Listen to me.”

“You’re going to kill us all,” Wonshik says, but it comes out as a half-sob and Hakyeon feels another piece of his heart break. “How could you? You know what that angel has done to us, to all of us—”

Hakyeon does not have a bond with Wonshik in the same way that he does with Sanghyuk, so he cannot feel Wonshik’s emotions—but he should have known that Taekwoon is haunting him just as much as he haunts Sanghyuk, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from crying, too. Instead he just twists his hands free of Wonshik’s grip to cup his face, wiping his bloody tears and smearing them all over his face, bringing their foreheads close together. Wonshik’s so keyed up he’s actually panting like he needs the air, and Hakyeon hates himself even more. “I love him,” he says, like that’s an excuse. “I know that’s not… I know that doesn’t make it alright. But I can’t even begin to explain it. I can’t live without him. I’ve given up trying.”

“I can’t live without you either.” Wonshik’s voice cracks, and it’s possibly the most horrible sound Hakyeon has ever heard. They so rarely say things to each other like this, because Wonshik isn’t the sentimental type and Hakyeon doesn’t really know how to express how much he means to him—but the feelings are always there, and hearing them now is like a shock to his system. He truly feels pulled in two ways, split in two, and it hurts so badly he thinks he’s about to die.

“You won’t have to,” Hakyeon replies, and he pulls Wonshik in for a hug, not caring that Wonshik’s getting blood all over his shirt. “I can’t… I don’t know how to explain it. I love him as much as I love you, but in a different way. You’re both… mine. I don’t want to have one without the other. He’s special to me, but you’re my best friend. Not even a fucking murderous angel with a grudge can come between that.”

Wonshik’s hands grip his t-shirt so tightly he hears the fabric tear as he trembles. Hakyeon meant what he said. He cannot lose either of them, and won’t. “I don’t understand,” Wonshik says, and Hakyeon closes his eyes. “I can’t understand. I love you too, but I’d never endanger your life like that. Why do you get to? People keep dying for the two of you to be together. I don’t want to be next. I don’t want Hongbin to be next.”

“I won’t let him get us.” Useless words, because he’s about as effective against Taekwoon as a wet sock, but he speaks them with a conviction that strengthens them both. “Jaehwan won’t let him get us. He doesn’t know we’re seeing each other again. We’re safe.”

“Are we ever really safe?” Wonshik sniffles, and Hakyeon doesn’t have an answer.

//

They talk for hours, until the sun comes up and they curl up in bed together, the dried blood on Wonshik’s face flaking away as he sleeps peacefully in Hakyeon’s arms. He still doesn’t think Wonshik understands fully, but he’s moving towards acceptance, and that’s enough for now. Whether Hakyeon will ever be forgiven for the deception is another thing entirely. He knows he’s done the wrong thing, hiding this from everyone. He can only try and mend it going forward.

Sanghyuk comes home a few hours later and shakes him awake, worry creased all over his face as he takes in the scene in front of him—Hakyeon’s shirt blood-stained, Wonshik having slid into his lap in his sleep. “What happened?”

“Sit down,” Hakyeon whispers (although it’s not like it matters, since Wonshik isn’t going to wake up), catching Sanghyuk’s wrist to slide their palms together. “I have something to tell you.”

As he tells the story from the beginning, Sanghyuk’s face gets grimmer and grimmer until the end, when he looks like he’s carved of marble, completely frozen—and then he sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, and offers Hakyeon a weak smile. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“I understand.” Sanghyuk shrugs. “I don’t think it’s the greatest idea in the world, but I’m happy for the two of you. You deserve each other. He deserves some joy in his life.”

Hakyeon catches Sanghyuk’s chin and gently turns his face around, scanning for any signs of lies. But Sanghyuk looks back at him boldly, if a little sadly, and his expression is mirrored through the bond. He’s not exactly pleased, but he’s relieved that now he knows what Hakyeon is hiding. And he _does_ understand. The more time he spends with Hongbin, he understands.

“Thank you,” Hakyeon whispers, because he knows he and Wonshik are not done yet and to have Sanghyuk’s unconditional acceptance is a blessing he does not deserve. “I love you, you know.”

Sanghyuk smiles and presses a chaste kiss to Hakyeon’s lips, his hand lingering on Hakyeon’s jaw for a moment before he gets up. “I love you too, hyung,” he replies with a wink, and Hakyeon can’t help the smile that stretches across his face.

//

It’s a stretch to say things return to normal—because, really, things stopped being normal the moment Hakyeon ever saw Jaehwan—but they settle into a new routine that starts to become comfortable.

It’s another few weeks before Hakyeon deems it safe enough to reintroduce Jaehwan to the others, but in the end he should have trusted his friends more. Sanghyuk and Hongbin welcome Jaehwan into the fold once more like he never left, and Wonshik only hesitates for a moment before offering Jaehwan his hand to shake—a concession that’s huge, for him, and Hakyeon catches his eye and mouths _thank you_. They all get drunk to deal with the awkwardness, and when they’re halfway through a game of scrabble—apparently Sanghyuk’s new passion, although he’s completely ineffective against the team of Wonshik and Jaehwan together—Hakyeon looks around at the room and feels safe once more. There’s a warm glow of happiness in his stomach that can’t be attributed to the alcohol, and when Sanghyuk roars as Wonshik pulls out another ridiculous word that can’t be real (but is) Hakyeon laughs along with the rest of them, feeling whole in a way he didn’t realise he ever missed.

Of course, his naiveté is blinding.

//

They’re just emerging from the subway station near home, Sanghyuk reaching to poke Hakyeon in the side playfully, when Hongbin falls to his knees and screams.

It’s a guttural, horrible sound, one that crawls down Hakyeon’s spine and freezes him in place. The few people that are out at this hour are hurrying past them and staring, but Sanghyuk pays no attention to them and falls to the ground next to Hongbin, grabbing him by the arm, his eyes wide. There’s no one around that could be hurting Hongbin like this, no one in reach—but his eyes roll back in his head and he arches his back and screams again, his hands scrabbling at his chest, and Hakyeon’s heart stops. He knows.

Wonshik.

“Where?” he roars, grabbing Hongbin’s face to shake him. “Where is he?”

“The roof,” Hongbin gasps, doubling over and wrapping his arms around his middle, trying to fight back against what must be waves of—of pain, or of panic, or of _something_. “A… Wait…” He closes his eyes, his fangs bared, and Hakyeon feels like time is going to stop entirely. “I think it’s your place.”

Hakyeon doesn’t even wait for the others to follow him. He’s off and running before Hongbin can say another word, sprinting towards home as fast as his legs can take him. They’d been cutting it pretty fine getting the first train back, and Hongbin had reassured them he’d make it in time—but the sky is lightening dangerously fast, and all Hakyeon can hear is the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

He only makes it as far as the lobby before Jaehwan blinks in from nowhere, eyes black and sword drawn. He opens his mouth to say something— _where is he?_ —but Jaehwan just grabs his arm and blinks them away, and when Hakyeon reorients himself—

“No,” he moans, taking a broken step forward with eyes unseeing.

Taekwoon has Wonshik by the neck, his feet just brushing the ground—but it’s clear he cannot stand. There’s blood all over him, blood pooling at his feet, and Hakyeon sees one—two—three gaping wounds, one in his chest and two in his abdomen. He is twitching and jerking with pain, and Hakyeon’s eyes fill with tears. He cannot even look at Taekwoon, monster as he is. All he can see is Wonshik, his Wonshik, bleeding out before his very eyes. _How many more times?_

“No,” he says again, blinking to clear the tears. The sky behind Taekwoon has gone from blue to yellow at the horizon, and all he can do is fucking stand there, completely frozen. Jaehwan, by his side, is immobile in the worst way, and Hakyeon knows—a three-hundred-year truce, and Taekwoon is trying to entice him to break it, using Hakyeon’s friends as target practice. He can’t stand it, he can’t _stand_ it, and yet he can’t do a single fucking thing as the four of them stand there, unmoving, locked in this invisible battle.

The sun begins to peek over the horizon, and several things happen at once.

Hakyeon takes another step forward, intending to go to Wonshik. He cannot survive the sun. If he doesn’t survive, Hakyeon doesn’t want to live, either; they are more than brothers, now, more than best friends. Jaehwan’s wings flutter, spread, and Hakyeon wants to say _don’t! do!_ because what was it Jaehwan had said? If he and Taekwoon came to blows again, one of them would die?

He’s standing there, hating every second he spends torn between the two of them—he cannot live in a world without either of them—when Jaehwan turns to him and winks, and his heart sinks. _No_.

“Enough,” Jaehwan snarls, and as the sun bursts over the horizon, bathing the world in that beautiful orange glow Hakyeon had so admired a few months ago, he takes a running leap at Taekwoon. Taekwoon drops Wonshik to raise his sword to parry Jaehwan’s blow, and then they’re gone, toppling over the edge of the building, the truce broken irreversibly.

All Hakyeon can do is sob as he crawls over to Wonshik, whose skin is beginning to smoke, to grab his arms and drag him back towards the shade of the stairwell, his blood leaving a sickening trail of gore behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> you know what else is back ? the pain train CHOO CHOO EVERYONE ABOARD BETCHA THOUGHT HAKYEONNI WAS GONNA GO EASY ON YOU HAHAH NOOOOOOOOO
> 
> in all seriousness, I'm so sorry this took so long to come to yall (I say that every update?)... I thought I would have time in Korea to write, but class every day has been killing me. On the plus side, my Korean is heaps better than it was before. On the downside, I'm tired every day from waking up early, and my writing time was basically... nonexistent. But we got there in the end. This was only beta'd by 1/2 of my betas since Oli's on holiday so... I went Full Drama. :~)
> 
> I struggled with this a lot separate to having no time... I got my marks back for my creative writing subject at uni and they were so bad it made me reconsider my career (I want to write a novel one day). Even if I had had time I wouldn't have felt like writing... I really thought about giving up. Stupid, I know, but writing means a lot to me, and if I'm not good at it, what's the point? But then I thought that yall wouldn't be reading this if I wasn't _some_ measure of good, and cowboyed up and got on with it. So this piece is a bit all over the place because I was having some serious life realisations while writing it lmaooooo
> 
> Can't make any promises as to when the next one is out, since I genuinely don't know; I fly out of Korea in a couple of days, and I have to settle in back home and hop straight back into uni before I'll know. But who knows. Maybe i'll do some on the plane :D
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading (and lol i'm sorry) ♡


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